Looking Back
by MockJayPhoenix12
Summary: Merlin and Arthur have a long, much needed discussion concerning the past, and together, face the present. One-shot. Non-slash.


2-9-13

Looking Back

A/N- Merlin's POV, present tense. Follows "Laughlines," with a few references to it, though this one can stand alone. Please tell me what you think! ;-D

Arthur's had something on his mind all morning. Perhaps it's knowing him as well as I do that I've noticed it, despite our centuries of separation.

We came out to sit on the porch earlier this afternoon. The cottage is high enough on the hillside to provide a perfect view of the lake.

We're peaceful here. For my part, the peace results merely from Arthur's presence, and the current absence of any doubt concerning his existence. This peace, more than the silence is broken when Arthur tells me what's on his mind.

"I had the chance to kill Mordred."

I look over at him slowly, many things running through my head and unsure which accompanying emotion to let through. I decide to get the answer to a question his words present first. "You did," I say.

"Yes," Arthur agrees, "but… only too late." His eyes are solemn, reluctant to admit… "I could have killed him before he'd had a chance to… kill me. I hesitated."

I realize I'm shaking my head, numbly denying this new idea. The thought that if Arthur had acted only a bit quicker, his fate could have been altered entirely.

And I would never have been alone.

"Why?" My voice is a breath, for anything stronger may turn into a shout. "Arthur, how could-"

"Because there was good in him, Merlin," Arthur tells me. "Don't tell me you could have killed anyone you knew so well without hesitation."

As my years in Camelot had progressed, there were few things that could stand between me and keeping Arthur safe. Many times over the many years, I have kicked myself for not killing Mordred when I had the chance. Arthur must see what path my thoughts are taking by the expression on my face. Now, at last, he must see how cruel and cold I really am- not the virtuous, naive servant he'd always fancied me to be, or even the great sorcerer whose sole purpose is the preservation of all good things.

No. In actuality, I've always been selfish- my constant objective to keep anyone from taking Arthur from me.

He takes my hand now, laying it over the arm of his chair, held beneath his own warm palm. "He was wrong," my friend agrees with me, "but he wasn't motivated by a desire to take my life, or anyone else's." He looks down at the grass, his eyes running over it while a faint smile touches his face. "Mordred wasn't always evil. You do remember that, don't you?"

It seems so backwards that he can feel pity or anything resembling kindness toward the man who took his life when he was less than thirty years old. When Arthur looks at me again, I'm frowning with these very thoughts.

"Honestly," I say, "Arthur, there's only one detail concerning his existence that I've been unable to forget."

Arthur's face becomes more of a mask, ready to assume the stronger role as he so often does, even now. No doubt he thinks me unstable- no doubt I _am_ unstable- for my ability to hold a grudge against someone who's been dead well over a millenium.

He rubs my hand. "I should have just gone through with it," he tells me in a resigned manner, almost like he's making himself believe it just so that he can say it to me.

What he doesn't know is that I _can_ see his side, despite my bitterness. "Arthur-"

"Merlin," he interrupts. "I know what difference it makes- …could have made. For both of us. It was the wrong decision and I'm sorry."

I gaze into those deep eyes that I missed for so long, now managing to get on my nerves once again. "You were right to hesitate," I tell him, and absorb his confused frown with the start of smile on my own face. "It would have been easier for everyone if you hadn't, but it was the right thing. I should have seen that at the first."

Arthur's nod is barely perceptible, but the openness about his face as he silently watches me leads more words tumbling out of my mouth.

"You know that I used, to…" I begin roughly. "…Fancy myself the gentler, more compassionate one between us. Maybe once that was even true."

"I've never thought otherwise," Arthur says.

"Then," I point out, "but now?" His frown changes to the pitying face I've seen so often on him since his return, but I just shrug and divert my eyes from his. Now that I've begun explaining, I have to continue, not only because I want to make my point clear, but now that I've gathered the courage to go through with it, I can't risk stopping. "I've changed, Arthur," I tell him, gazing blindly across the lake. "I was lonely, and so… bitter. I'm not sure what happened. I know _why_ I started changing, but it happened gradually, and when I remember myself so long ago-"

Arthur waits for the end of a sentence I'll never complete before speaking for me. "Time changes things, Merlin," he says with acceptance. "_People_ change. But I know you better than anyone now." He squeezes my hand. "And you're the same person you used to be."

I'm not sure whether he's remembering incorrectly or just saying it, but I know better than to believe him. "I just miss the old days, that's all." I spare him a glance to cover my lie.

"As do I," Arthur says. "Still, where just the two of us are concerned… Merlin." I look over to a warm smile. "This is better."

I know he's right. The years after his death provided an imagined glow of perfection upon our relationship. I remembered his flaws, for sure, but they did anything but bother me after he was gone. To view it realistically, I know that we'd many a disagreement, and that Arthur could be quite harsh to me without noticing it.

Since his return, however, he's hasn't raised his voice at me except in fear, and he's more pleasant than he ever was before. Is it because I'm all that he has? Is he kinder to counterbalance my coldness?

"I'm sorry." My words are so unexpected that Arthur doesn't know what I mean or how to react.

"…Wh-"

"Just… for not being the same," I explain. "You don't want to see it, but I know in my heart that I'm not the way I used to be."

"Merlin…" Arthur wants to stop me, but the pain in his tone reveals that he's begun to understand.

"I'm not saying that I'm a _different_ person," I tell him before he can go on. "But I've seen more in fifteen hundred years than most are stupid enough to hope for. Cities and kingdoms falling, the discovery of the New World, and more war than I care to remember." When I sigh, I feel as if I've been holding that breath my whole life. "I'm tired, Arthur. I'm so tired."

His fingers lace between mine, holding my hand tighter. One look at his face tells me he's fighting to keep tears at bay. The belief that he'll succeed gives me the confidence to complete my thoughts.

"When you died, Arthur," I say plainly, "I died too. I was alive, but not… living- not really. Returning to Camelot was too difficult." My eyes slide shut, and I'm shaking my head softly at the memory.

"I thought that you did," Arthur says in a low voice.

"Yes," I reply, "briefly. I couldn't bear it for more than a few months, and I only stayed that long for Gwen."

Arthur sags at the mention of his wife's name and rubs his eyes, wiping away the only proof that his emotions have gotten the better of him. "Tell me about that," he requests, pushing through the hurt.

It's painful to remember, but I see how badly Arthur needs to know everything that I can tell him. However, I'm not so clear on details as he would like. "She said once that that winter was the coldest ever. Maybe only the both of us agreed on that. The castle felt so empty that year." I shudder, tearing myself from that memory to another.

"She made me one of the council when she lifted the ban on magic," I say. It gets Arthur to smile.

"There's an image," he remarks, still with trouble picturing me outside my simple-servant façade. He pats my arm to let me know his comment was not unkindly meant. "Did you take to the job?"

I catch myself trying to answer in the affirmative, and then I shake my head, unsure what my true feelings were until now. "…I hated it," I tell him. "Once I started fulfilling my duties, and actually offered my opinion without being asked, Gwen told me I did well, but- it was just wrong to sit at the round table without you, Arthur. She was so strong through it all. I don't know how she did it."

"…When did you leave?" Arthur asks.

"Late that summer," I answer. "Gwen understood how hard it was for me to stay. I took every opportunity I got to come here. She finally confronted me about it; told me that I ought to go. My heart could never find rest in Camelot again."

Arthur sighs. "Did you ever return?"

"…Not for many years," I admit. "And only rarely after that. The last time was centuries ago. One battle in eleven hundred left it in bad condition, and no one claimed it afterwards. There was nothing of the lower towns, the last that I saw. A whole wall of the citadel had been taken out." I force myself to look at Arthur, whose eyes hold the very pain I felt all those years ago. Maybe it's cruel to tell him these things, but for my part, it helps to share the weight of the knowledge. "I couldn't go back after that," I tell him.

Though he seems hesitant to question me further, Arthur appears confused. "How was it easier at the lake, Merlin?" he asks at last.

I've never had to explain that before. "In Camelot, it was like I could feel your ghost, while Avalon was always more like the tomb- but also the place where I knew you'd come back one day. It's reminded me of you in a way that was less… oppressive. I could breathe a little better here."

It's written on his face now- how much I must have cared about him to have been as deeply affected as I was. Less pity and more appreciation, though, which suits me better.

"If you've changed, Merlin," he half-whispers, "it's because of me, and I'm sorry."

"Let's not do this again," I say wearily. "None of what happened was your fault, Arthur."

"Yes, I'm to blame," Arthur informs me. "It was to be there for me that you've stayed alive Merlin- and I think that you needed the thicker skin to go through that."

My face falls as I realize that a detail that's gone unspoken between us may be a misunderstanding.

"You never had to, you know," he says.

At first I only nod. "I didn't have a choice," I tell him, though I know his interpretation is the wrong one. Unwilling to confront this issue now, I rise as inconspicuously as I can, but Arthur is focused on me.

"There's always a choice," he says as if he fully understands the matter. "And I appreciate it, Merlin."

I can't face his smile and bring myself to move away- but I do remain standing. "Arthur," I say, preparing to explain. It's a horrible flashback I have in the quiet moment that follows, but holding his stare, I know my friend's reaction will not follow the same lines that it did then. I lay my hand over his, still resting on my arm. "I'm immortal."

It takes a moment to sink in. Arthur's lips even form the word "what," but he must know, if by my solid stare alone, that he heard me correctly. He gets to his feet, maybe just to convince himself that he still can.

"That isn't possible," he mutters.

I almost scoff at the words. "How many times I used to think that myself," I remark. "And how many times did I wish it were true."

My morbid comments are lost on Arthur, who still gapes a little in disbelief. "You won't die- ever?" he asks.

I shake my head. "Or age," I point out. When he still looks dumbfounded, I force what may or may not be humor. "You didn't think I just managed to stay looking young through clean living, did you?"

"I'd thought you'd kept yourself alive with magic," he says, my sarcasm lost on him. "How did that happen?"

"It was magic, of a sort," I explain. "The deepest, oldest kind there is." As he looks like he might fall over, I prompt him to sit back down. When we both have, he again takes my hand. It's less for the purpose of comforting us both, and more to steady himself. There's silence for a time, while I guess Arthur determines which of the questions on his mind deserves an answer first.

"How did you find out?"

_Lungs ache as they fight helplessly for air. Pushing towards the dim glow that is the surface before… but there's no death to escape- only ungrounded fear and excruciating pain._

It still hits me hard when I have the misfortune to remember. I hope that Arthur doesn't notice the stillness of my face before I recover from the haunting memory. "Fifteen hundred years," I remind him. "There've been ample opportunities for realizing it."

I'm careful not to rub his hand in nervous reflex, but it makes no difference. "How did you find out?" he repeats- not in annoyance, but worry, maybe.

I don't want to tell him the truth. I'll only see the pity on his face again, which is the last thing that I want. I read his face as best I can, to assure myself there's no way out of this before I tell him. "I should've drowned once, but… I didn't even lose consciousness."

Not the whole truth. I see it was a mistake to dance around it as Arthur's face twists. "What happened, Merlin?" he presses, determined to discover who it was that had tried to drown me- unaware that he's talking to the only person responsible.

"…I tried t-" There I go, the stuttering again. I press my lips shut for a moment, hoping Arthur will be patient with me as I try to summon the courage to admit my greatest guilt. "I tr-"

I screw my eyes closed as well, determined to get a hold of myself. I lower my face into my hand; aware that a single glance at Arthur right now can destroy any semblance of composure I put forward.

But when I feel his hand on my shoulder blade, I do begin to break.

"Take your time," he says gently. He still has no idea what I'm trying to say.

I take deep slow breaths before lifting my face again and forcing my eyes to meet Arthur's. "It was a few years after you'd died," I explain in an almost mechanically level tone. "I should have noticed that I hadn't been aging. I only looked older through grief, and I hardly ate in those days, which showed in my face. But I didn't see my reflection often enough to really follow any changes."

I was looking at my dark reflection in the lake water that morning. Feeling my sorrow worse than ever, for it was a similar day to those last that Arthur had spent. Even sunrises reminded me of that first morning which he missed, when I sent him off into the lake. My mind was in a dark, dark place.

"Hm-hm." Arthur's voice brings me to the present. He's here; he's alive- why can't I just leave those dreaded days behind myself?

Because even now, no one knows about it except me- and the one person I can tell is the same who really should know, if only to better understand me. I steady my voice and speak. "I tried to kill myself."

I know better than to look at him- why would I want to see the horror on his face?- but I have to know how he's reacting.

There's a muted pain there, but he seems angry as well. "Merlin," he whispers, mortified, as I knew he would be. It's not only at my actions and desperation, though, but _me_ that he's angry with, and it's _my_ eyes where tears start. "How could you ever sink to that?"

"I never meant-… It was more than fourteen hundred years ago, Arthur," I tell him.

"And how often have you tried something like that?"

Strangely enough, there's something familiar and even bittersweet about having him disappointed in me, though mostly it just makes me sad- and defensive. "There was no reason to try again, Arthur. It hadn't worked."

"And thank God it didn't," he snaps back at me, still angry, but tearing up now as well. He pulls his hand away to rub them both over his face for a long second. I feel I should say something, do something, but just like all those times in the distant past, I don't want to risk feeding his anger. My silence will better lead him to regret his rough response.

"…Honestly, Merlin, I'm not sure that I'd have been any stronger in your case."

I look up. Sitting back in his chair, he tears his listless gaze from the lake to my own eyes.

"If I had ever lost you," he says, "and I didn't have Gwen…"

"You would have been strong," I tell him. "Because your kingdom needed you."

"If I didn't have that either," he continues, making a true comparison, "I can't say I wouldn't have tried the same."

I'm not sure why he tells me this. Simply to make me feel better about my weakness or to let me know that I'm equally important to him?

"That doesn't make it right," he reminds.

"No," I agree. "…I am sorry, you know."

Arthur sighs. "I have no right to reproach you for it," he tells me. "It's only my fear speaking- my fear that… things might have happened differently."

Again, his hand finds mine, and this time I cling to it the way I wanted to for years- desperate to keep him here with me, as I often tried to do though he was well out of my reach. But the lone, angry fist that once resulted from that is no longer angry, and no longer alone.

"At least you don't have to worry about me going anywhere," I say to break the silence. Arthur looks up, his eyes questioning whether I meant that to be a joke. I smile halfway to let him know there was humor behind it, but also that I meant what I said.

"Yeah," he agrees, with a half-hearted attempt at a grin that soon has faded into a meditative frown. "Merlin," he says, "I know that I can never… If there's any way that I could begin to repay what you've-"

"No," I stop him, shaking my head. "Arthur, I never meant for this to place a gap between us."

"There isn't," Arthur assures me.

"But there_ is_- where any debt exists. More than anything, I don't want that. …If you've been acting differently because you think you _owe_ me- then I would have it that you didn't, though I have enjoyed your attempts at folding the laundry."

We share a smile, but I can see it doesn't distract Arthur from our conversation, so I endeavor to put his troubled thoughts to rest.

"For a time," I tell him, "I had trouble coming to terms with my lot. It's not as if I'd asked for it, and the knowledge that it was something I couldn't get rid of- that was frightening, at first. But, eventually, I realized it wasn't a curse." I'm smiling now, hoping he'll realize that the difficulties I've had were so worth it to have the chance to know him again. "It's in fact the greatest gift, though I couldn't see it at first. It's been long, and tiresome, but to be here now- with you- I wouldn't think about changing it."

Arthur eyes me with uncertainty. "Do you _really_ mean that?" he questions.

I can't help but smile. "You know I'm a rotten liar."

"Yes, sorry," Arthur replies quickly, as if he really should have known better. "…Then you aren't- I don't know… angry at me, for…"

"Dying," I finish, to which he just nods gratefully. "Well," I say once I've considered my answer, "you did everything you could not to die- everything within the bounds of honor. To change your actions would be to change _you_. …I like you the way you are."

Arthur releases an awkward snort of laughter. "You've always been silly that way, you know?"

"Yeah," I reply. My enthusiasm leads Arthur to tap my hand in half-hearted annoyance. "Despite my words, I wouldn't mind if you still want to help me prepare dinner."

The mention of food removes the weight of our talk from Arthur's face. "Of course," he answers, following me inside. "Are you going to use the magic oven again?"

"It's not magic, Arthur- it's just a microwave. Basically…" I turn around with the intention of going on, but his confusion is priceless. "…I'll explain it to you one day."

3-18-13


End file.
